


Under the Sea

by wolfwithwoodenteeth



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fairy Tale, Alternate Universe - Mythology, Dark!Sansa, F/M, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Jon is a virgin pirate, Smut, Sort Of, drowned god!Theon, mermaid!sansa, past Harry/Sansa
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-20
Updated: 2018-02-22
Packaged: 2019-03-06 13:24:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 12,047
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13412172
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wolfwithwoodenteeth/pseuds/wolfwithwoodenteeth
Summary: Sansa lived a good life, happy and free of any cares, until the age of 13, when men rudely burst in and complicated it.After her father dies, accused of treason by her betrothed and his mother, and her family loses everything, she's driven into the arms of many false friends. After a final betrayal, she decides she can't take the pain any longer.When she leapt into the surging waves, she didn't expect to ever wake up again, certainly not to an arrogant face smirking down at her, but this man who is not a man has a gift to offer her. A long life, freedom and strength, and an end to all her sorrows.It sounds perfect, but all gifts come with a price, and as the years go by, Sansa realizes she's not happy. Perhaps she's a fool, but she still wants more. Her search never ends in the desired result, until one day, when a violent storm takes a ship and sends a solemn young stranger her way.***This is sea gods, dark mermaids and mortals, an enchanted palace under the sea, love and friendship and most of all a story about Sansa's resilience. A dark The Little Mermaid rewrite, with some Beauty and the Beast elements mixed in and major inspiration from Augusta Webster's poem Circe....





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was exploring some ideas for the Jonsa Kink Week prompts when I started writing this, but it quickly took on a life of its own. 
> 
> All I ever wanted was to write an evil enchantress!Sansa and virgin!Jon smutfest, but instead it turned into this... 
> 
> Oh, and somehow Theon forced his way into the story as well... I wasn't sure how to tag Theonsa for this. They're not romantically involved, but they do end up having a lot of sex whenever Theon's around... I guess they're sort of in a mythical-beings-with-benefits situation :') Just thought I'd make that clear from the start...

The sun drops luridly into the west;   
darkness has raised her arms to draw him down   
before the time, not waiting as of wont   
till he has come to her behind the sea;   
and the smooth waves grow sullen in the gloom   
and wear their threatening purple; more and more   
the plain of waters sways and seems to rise   
convexly from its level of the shores;   
and low dull thunder rolls along the beach:   
there will be storm at last, storm, glorious storm. 

_Circe - Augusta Webster_

 

Sansa stares into the deep blue calm, her fingers languidly brushing the lilac leaves on a low-hanging tree branch in the bower where she's reclining on a bed of emerald flowers. She loves to see the fish swimming along the walls of the dome encasing her palace, but today the sea is quiet and dull.

There's a restlessness in her bones, binding her to this bed for fear she won't be able to hold herself back once she allows her body to move. This loneliness and boredom have her on edge and part of her wants to sing and dance to soothe this disquiet inside of her, but she's sung every song a thousand times and she's whirled into every corner of the garden and every chamber of the palace so often she can see every single one of them when she closes her eyes. And what is the point in dancing alone? Why should she sing if there's no one to listen?

It's been so long since she's had company that her self-chosen solitude is starting to irk her. If she didn't know any better, she'd pray for a balm to cure this turmoil inside her. 

"Have you missed me, my lovely?" a brash voice interrupts her thoughts and she purses her lips to keep them from curling into a smile. She opens her eyes and there he is before her, still as handsome and youthful as the day he found her, many lifetimes ago. 

 

 _When she closed her eyes, she could still see the cruel smile on Harry's face. "Did you really believe I'd wed a traitor's brood?" he'd huffed._ _He'd taken her maidenhead and her dignity, her last chance to return home. He'd completely and utterly ruined her and he hadn't cared a fig._

_Tears clouded her vision and the wind whipped her hair into her face. She was freezing without her cloak, the cold sharp and unforgiving, but it didn't matter anymore. There was a storm coming, the waves many feet below the cliff she was standing on already turbulent in anticipation. It will be quick, she told herself, and the pain will finally end._

 

He sits down by her feet, his hand carelessly curling around a bare ankle. She meets his gaze, takes in the cocky smirk on his lips and tilts her chin up in defiance. "I'm surprised you remember me, My Lord. I'd nearly come to believe you were merely a figment of my imagination."

He barks out a laugh. "You've always known what I am, Sansa. I didn't take you for a fool."

 

_"I won't promise you my undying love," he told her. "But I can offer you a life away from all the sorrow, and power over those who have wronged you."_

 

"You'd be the fool if you truly assumed that," she teases, pretending to be oblivious of his hand gliding up to her inner thigh as he inches closer to her.

"You haven't answered my queston yet," he reminds her, a finger slipping between her folds. 

She moans as he presses his thumb to her pearl and admits: "I suppose your visits are never tedious, Theon."

She drags him up and snaps her teeth at his lips, palming him roughly through his breeches. She knows that's all the encouragement he needs, so moments later a satisfied, throaty groan escapes from her lips when he pushes inside of her. 

 

* * *

 

Theon follows her as she walks back to the palace to cleanse her body of the signs of their exertion and brush the gnarls out of her hair. "There's a storm coming," he tells her, gliding his hands around her waist, as he comes up behind her.

She hums back in acknowledgement, her body feeling a great deal more unwound now. She pauses, allowing him to kiss her neck. "Is that why you can't keep your hands off me?"

"You're hard to resist," he explains. "No man could ever tire of you."

 _And yet plenty have._ She resumes walking. "I wager you tell that to all your girls. Do you still have them waiting for you in every port around the known world?"

"I forget their names and their faces as soon as I leave their beds. You on the other hand..." he trails off, pulling her to him.

"What's with the flattery, Theon? You've already had me."

"And I'll have you again."

She arches an eyebrow and he kisses her hard. "Don't pretend you don't want to. I know you enjoy it as much as I do."

She answers him with a breathless giggle, hands resting on his shoulders. "Oh, I do. It's not your cock I'm afraid of, it's the tales that tongue of yours weaves, and the purpose behind it."

"Come out with me tonight," he whispers against the shell of her ear.

"I knew it," she sighs, stiffening in his arms.

"Ah, Sansa, just give in. You can't resist what you are!"

 _What you made me._ She knows he's right, it's what her body desires, she'll find no peace until she gives in.

 

* * *

 

She closes her eyes and lets the sweet, cool waters caress her body as she feels her limbs grow warm and all atingle until she's covered in sapphire scales, her hair stiffening into a muscular fin that's merged into her back, rendering her sprightly and free. An exhilirated laugh escapes from her lips, water filling her mouth and flowing out through the gills in her throat.

She whips her tail, whirling around to face Theon. His legs have disappeared and in their stead there's a mass of strong black tentacles with glints of gold. He takes in the look on her face and offers her a smug grin. 

She turns away from him so as not to let his complacency ruin her joy. She can still hear his voice inside her head though:  _"Told you so!"_

 _"Would you please shut up?"_ she answers giddily and lets the instincts of her stronger body take over, lets them lead her where they will.

The second time Theon took her up against a wall certainly helped relieve some of her tension, but this, this is true release, the rapture she's desired for so long. 

She doesn't know how long she's been out here, when suddenly, there's a stirring in the waters. It feels off. Something is wrong. Pieces of wood and other debris are drifting around her and suddenly something heavy crashes into her shoulder.

She turns and meets the unseeing eyes of a corpse. Her mouth opens in a silent scream. More bodies are sinking down all around her, some of them still warm and thrashing. She jerks her head around, looking for a way out, but it's too late, the sweet tang has already settled on her tongue.

The frenzy starts, taking over her mind and body, steering her to the source of the taste and all she can see is red. Part of her registers the man is unconscious before she sinks her teeth into his bleeding thigh and drains him. Another warm body is close and she strikes quickly. This one struggles, but it does not matter, he's no match for her strength.

The body falls limp from her arms and another appears in front of her. She darts forward and stops.

She's staring into a long face and stormy grey eyes and she's struck by the memory of a life she once knew, many mortal lifetimes ago, when she was still human herself and dwelled on land. The bloodlust fades away and instead she's overcome by pity.

She hooks her hands under the stranger's arms and beats her tail as fast as she can, heading back to her palace. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really don't need another WIP, so this one's going to be short and I'll try to finish it as soon as possible. NOT putting a deadline on it, cuz whenever I do that, things tend to go wrong... :')


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As per usual, this was getting longer than I expected, so I decided to split up the middle of the story into two chapters.
> 
> Sansa's human life was very close to what it's been in canon so far, with some exceptions, the most obvious being no Theon in Winterfell and no Jon Snow.
> 
> There was a Jon in Sansa's lifetime, but Ned didn't make it to the Tower of Joy in time. Because Jon wasn't in the right place at the right time in this universe, the Others weren't defeated for good, and Rhaegal survived and had a nest full of eggs. As a consequence, magic is still present in the world and the seasons are still unusually long. 
> 
> I like to imagine that if there had been a canon!Jon, the idea of seeing him again would have stopped Sansa from jumping off that cliff, because as distant as they had been as children, still having a piece of her family left might have made her hold on.
> 
> This is not vital information to understand most of the story, but I like to know these things as a writer and I suppose some readers like some background information as well.

Ah me! these love a day and laugh again,   
and loving, laughing, find a full content;   
but I know nought of peace, and have not loved. 

_Circe - Augusta Webster_

 

Patchface opens the gate and as they're sucked in she can feel her body shift back. The weight of the man in her arms becomes too heavy to bear and she slumps, a solid presence behind her preventing her from tumbling down. When they're on solid ground, Theon lifts the body up and asks: "Where do you want him?"

"Bedroom," she urges.

He cocks an eyebrow and she rolls her eyes at him. "It may have escaped your notice, but he's unconscious." Her gaze drops to the young man's face. "He's so pale, white as snow," she whispers.

"Under the sea, the crows are white as snow, I know, I know, oh oh oh," Patchface chants, trailing behind them.

When they reach the bedroom, Theon puts the man down on Sansa's bed and steps back. 

Sansa sits down and studies the dark-haired man lying among the cushions, stunned by how very young he looks in slumber.  _Young but still solemn,_ she muses. It must be the long face. It stirs something in her, a memory or a dream, she can't tell. It's like an iridiscent fish entering the back of her mind, its colours fading before she has a chance to count them, slipping through her fingers as she tries to hold on to it. She lets her frustration rush out of her in a prolonged sigh.

"I'm quite certain there's a word for a person who keeps repeating the same actions expecting a different result," Theon mutters drily from behind her back. 

She purses her lips and chooses to ignore his comment, instead reaching out to trace the locket hanging from the stranger's neck.

Theon sighs deeply and audibly. "What is it this time? The size of his hands? The colour of his eyes?"

"If you don't approve, then why did you help me?" she asks sharply, pulling away. 

After another dramatic sigh, the room becomes silent and she knows Theon has left. It could be many moons before she sees him again.

"The kraken's face turns green as weed, I know, I know, oh oh oh," Patchface comments cheerfully.

She licks her lips. "That's enough, Patches, go and retrieve my chest, please."

 

* * *

 

With time and a little help from Sansa, her guest recovers. She's there when he wakes up and once again she's shocked by those dark grey irises when he opens his eyes.

The pained frown on his face shifts into a sleepy pout as his eyes try to focus on her face. "Am I dead?" he croaks out.

"No," she answers, offering him a smile. She owes him more of an explanation than that, but it can wait. For now he needs to rest, and eat, so she quickly has a bowl of soup shoved under his nose to distract him.

She retreats, but doesn't leave the room. Instead she watches him from a corner and she can see him glance back at her between spoonfuls of starfish soup.

When he's finished his meal, he falls back asleep, his mortal body not yet accustomed to his new surroundings.

Sansa doesn't need all that much sleep, but it's a nice way to pass the time, so she lies back on a lounger and dreams of being a girl again. It's warm inside the castle built of snow, and there's laughter and lemon cakes. A dark solemn man smiles down at a woman with auburn hair, a protective hand curled around her slightly swollen belly.

 

* * *

She tells him what's happened to him, where he is and that it's impossible to leave. Unsurprisingly he doesn't take it well.

Something akin to fear wells up in her tummy when she sees the rage in his blazing eyes and his twitching hands, but he just clenches his jaw and spits: "You should have let me die."

She sees little of him over the next couple of days, but ever so slowly she starts to notice his presence around her more and more often. She can feel his eyes on her and she knows that soon, he'll approach her, as all the men before him have.

 

_It was always the same. They all just wanted to use her. They suddenly remembered they had a wife to return to. Or they simply grew tired of her. At one point they all wished to leave. And she never let them._

 

She shakes her head, cursing herself over the comparison. This one might be different.

 

* * *

 

It's been weeks since he woke up and he still hasn't made any advances. She finds him in the garden, cautiously prodding a blue pear with one finger.

"You should try them," she advises him, plucking one from the tree. She takes a slow bite, not missing the way his throat bobs up and down as he watches. The light reflects off a gold chain around his neck. "They're very sweet."

He picks a piece of fruit himself and bites into it. "They are," he admits, before pursing his lips and averting his eyes. "My lady, I- I must apologize. I've repaid your hospitality with sullen rudeness and-"

She offers him a gracious smile. "I understand your distress. And you may call me Sansa. You could start repaying me by telling me your name if that's not too much to ask."

He blinks at her. "I haven't even told you my name?" It comes out as a question, though she's not sure that's the way he meant it. "My name is Jon Snow."

She hums as she nibbles on her pear. "So you can talk and you have a name. Good to know!"

For a moment he narrows his eyes, but then his lips quirk up and it almost looks like a tiny smile. He's distracted by jingles and loud singing as Patchface hops from one foot to the other between the trees.

Jon Snow finishes his pear and asks: "What happened to him?"

Sansa sighs. Patches' story is a sad one, one she feels might not be hers to share. "He tried to go back."

His eyebrows shoot up, hand reaching to grasp his locket. "Would I become like him if I tried to leave?"

She shakes her head. "No, you're not one of us. We're at least a thousand leagues below the surface, you'd drown before you got close to halfway up."

He frowns, glancing between her and Patches. "One of us? But you're not- your face..." He looks at her in bewilderment.

"He already had those in life," she explains. "He was a slave once..." She's not sure whether the practice still exists. 

"Do you ever want to go back?"

She shrugs.  "I have nothing to go back to."

"What happened to you?" he asks boldly.

Patchface sings louder. "Fool's blood, king's blood, blood on the maiden's thigh, but chains for the guests and chains for the bridegroom, aye aye aye."

 _Mother,_ a voice inside her sobs.  _Robb._ Patches repeats the rhyme.  _Blood on the maiden's thigh._ And suddenly it's a handsome face with sandy blond hair she sees sneering at her. She forces herself to snap out of this madness.

"A great many things happened to me, none of which I will share with you today, Jon Snow," she says, before taking her leave. 

 

* * *

  

To her surprise, Theon has come to visit her. She's walking among the plum trees when he appears beside her. 

"How's your little pet doing?" he asks. "Haven't grown tired of him yet?"

"He's not my pet," she bites back. 

He guffaws. "Oh, does he fall short?"

She averts her eyes. 

His next laugh is even more boisterous. "You don't know, do you? Oh, Sansa, have you lost your charms? Perhaps you should give up," he suggests. "I'm here now, after all."

She turns away from him, but he follows. "I don't belong to you, Theon!"

"Of course not," he answers, brushing her hair away from her face with both hands. "We're just having a good time together, aren't we?"

"I can have a good time without you as well," she mutters, avoiding his eyes. 

He sighs and pulls her close, rubbing her back. "You can fool yourself, lovely, but you can't fool Theon. You want more from them than just a good time. You always want more."

She nuzzles her face into the crook of his neck, hands clinging to his back a she fights back a sob. 

"Let me take care of you, my lovely," he whispers into the skin behind her ear. "You can ride my face or my cock, take your pleasure from me and forget about all this nonsense for a while, right?"

His lips are on her throat, trailing down to her collarbone and the voice inside her head tellling her this might not be a good idea fades away. 

She's still coming down from her second peak when Theon thrusts up into her one last time and finds his release inside her. When she opens her drowsy eyes, a shocked face is staring at her from behind a tree only twenty feet away.

 

* * *

 

She arranges for him to run into her by accident. She greets him cheerfully, but he cannot meet her eyes. "Will you take a turn with me, Jon Snow?" she asks, smiling sweetly.

He offers her his arm and leads her through the trees and bushes without saying a word. When she suspects he's going to stay silent for the rest of their walk, he finally opens his mouth. "Was that man your husband?"

That's not the question she was expecting. "Theon's not a man."

He stops and frowns at her.

"And he's not my husband either," she sighs.

He looks at her with a clenched jaw, but his face gives nothing away.

"Does that bother you?" she tries.

He opens his mouth and clears his throat. "Have you bedded many men?"

She arches an eyebrow. "Perhaps so. What of it?"

"Nothing," he mutters and starts walking again.

"Are you judging me, Jon Snow?" she prods him further. "What about you? Have you bedded many women?"

He freezes. "I- I haven't- I... err, I'm-" he stammers, his ears turning bright red. "Excuse me, my lady," he manages eventually, before storming off. 

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I hope the people having trouble with the Theonsa scenes had enough faith in me to stick around for another chapter. I know what I'm doing (sort of haha), and your patience will be rewarded :)

Where is my love? Does some one cry for me,   
not knowing whom he calls? does his soul cry   
for mine to grow beside it, grow in it?   
does he beseech the gods to give him me,   
the one unknown rare woman by whose side   
no other woman, thrice as beautiful,   
should once seem fair to him; to whose voice heard   
in any common tones no sweetest sound   
of love made melody on silver lutes,   
or singing like Apollo's when the gods   
grow pale with happy listening, might be peered   
for making music to him; whom once found   
there will be no more seeking anything? 

_Circe - Augusta Webster_

 

Sansa suspects Jon Snow's embarassment over his almost-confession is what keeps him away from her for the next couple of days, until one afternoon he bursts into the chamber where she's painting a mural. 

Panic is written on his face, but he conveys calmly that something is the matter with Patchface. From his description she understands Patches is having one of his episodes again. She grabs a clean brush and pats the folds of her gown to check for his tonic. 

He's lying on the grass, shaking and twitching. She kneels next to him and glances up at Jon. "Will you help me turn him?"

"Like this?"

She nods and pries Patches' mouth open to push the brush handle between his teeth.

"Isn't there anything else we can do?" Jon asks.

She shakes her head. "We can only wait for it to pass." She can feel Jon's eyes on her as she sits by Patches' side, trying not to see without closing her eyes, to avoid another image from appearing before her mind's eye.

Eventually, the twitching fades and he slumps against the ground underneath him. "It's always summer under the sea," he mumbles weakly, the brush dropping from his mouth.

She helps him sit up and holds the vial to his lips. He falls asleep soon after.

"Does this happen often?" Jon asks.

"It changes," she shrugs.

He looks at her until she meets his eyes. "Are- are you well, m- Sansa?" 

She offers him a sad smile. "I am. Only caught up in worries and memories, is all."

He holds her gaze for a little longer and nods.

 

* * *

 

They spend more time together over the next fortnight. When Sansa sings songs she learned in her childhood, he sits close by and listens quietly.

He tells her how he started out scrubbing decks on a merchant ship that carried silks and spices, rising in the ranks until he was captured by Mance Rayder's crew. He discovered they were far from common corsairs, but were instead rebels on a mission, fighting against a system that preyed on the weakest, which is why he decided to join them.

He's clutching his locket as he tells her this particular tale, almost making Sansa curious enough to ask him about it, but eventually she holds her tongue.

He's self-conscious about divulging his experiences, but Sansa listens eagerly, enraptured by his voice and his adventures. After a while she recognizes the way his brow furrows and his tongue darts out to lick his lips when he's searching for the right words.

There's a fluttering deep inside her tummy, a feeling or a desire she thought she'd buried a long time ago, and though it scares her, she decides to welcome it.

His stories give her the courage to share some of her own, even if she isn't always brave enough to reveal that she's talking about herself when she starts her stories with "A very long time" or "There once was a maiden".

He listens attentively and asks her questions about her tales. It's a new experience to her that a man would be interested in anything beyond the comfort of her voice and her body.

It takes her a while to realize that what's been sparked into life deep inside of her is hope.

 

* * *

 

Sansa has missed the two previous full moons, but now she can no longer resist the call. The others will all be there and she longs to see them.

She feels the pull as soon as the water hits her and the transformation begins. As much as she tries to resist this, there's no denying the thrill of the strength and freedom this body gives her.

Her thoughts go out to Patches, who can never join them on these nights. She gave him a sleeping potion before she left, so he doesn't have to suffer as much. This time, she also had Jon's safety in mind.

The thought of him stirs sensations inside her which are alien to this body, confusing her, so she shakes them off. She'd do well not to think too much while she's out here.

They're already gathered, close to the surface where the silver beams of the moon cut through the many-faceted blue of the water, shimmering, twinkling, giving birth to new colours.

Margaery approaches her in a whirl of glittering emerald, kissing her on both cheeks. She spies Myrcella's crimson tail and Mya's deep cerulean and onyx form. 

There are other familiar faces: Shiera, Alayaya, Eroeh, Marei. There are only a couple of men, Satin the only one she knows by name. A girl with a fin the colour of honey turns away from her, but Sansa ignores her to join the excited chatter of the other mermaids. 

They dance through the night, singing their praise to the moon for the strength she gives them. 

Later, the crowd is starting to disperse and she's caught up in idle conversation with Myrcella when Mya takes her hand, pulling her along.  _"Come on! I'll race you home!"_

She giggles and agrees. As they keep holding hands for most of the way back, it's not much of a race at all, but she revels in it all the same. When they're only half a mile off, she slips her fingers from Mya's grip and pushes her body further.

She's the first to reach the dome and an exhilirated laugh bursts from her lips as she whirls around to look for Mya.

She catches movement from the corner of her eye and turns back, drawn to it by instinct, and finds herself staring into Jon's shocked face.

 

* * *

 

Sansa's been evading Jon's company since the night of the full moon, and unsurprisingly she's better at it than he was only weeks ago.

Yet after less than a week, he manages to find her on a marble bench close to the pear tree where they talked for the first time. Perhaps she wanted to be found after all. 

He stands a couple of feet away from her, staring at his right foot which is kicking a hole into the grass. "You've been avoiding me," he states bluntly.

She swallows the lump in her throat. "You saw me," she whispers hoarsely, unable to meet his eyes.

"I did." He stays quiet after that, and she risks a quick glance at his face, that long, solemn face which doesn't betray his emotions.

She averts her eyes. "You must be repulsed, I- I'm a monster."

He moves a couple of steps closer and sits down beside her, hands clutching the edge of the bench. "I've seen quite a lot of monsters in my life, and I'm fairly certain you aren't one."

"I am," she insists, letting her hair fall between them like a curtain.

To her surprise he reaches out to brush it back. "Are you questioning my expertise on monsters?"

Although it's a stupid jape, she laughs anyway, but it quickly dissolves into a strangled sob. "You don't understand. You don't know what I'm capable of, what I've done!"

"I do," he states calmly and she throws him a bewildered look.

"I saw you the night you saved me," he clarifies. "I didn't realize at first, but it didn't take long to..."

He lets his statement trail off when she gasps, clasping a hand in front of her mouth. "Then how can you say I'm not a monster?" she mutters.

He rests his elbows on his knees, his brows furrowed. "I've lost count of how many men I've killed," he starts slowly. "Not all of those kills were inevitable, and not all of them were justified. There's a beast inside every man and I know what it feels like when that beast comes out. Does that make me a monster?"

He tilts his chin to face her and she holds his gaze for a while, before she shakes her head. "It's not the same."

"Isn't it?" he asks and reaches out to clasp her hand. His palm is warm and calloused against her slender fingers and she decides she likes the feeling more than she cares to admit.

"You saved me," he continues. "You took care of Patchface when he was ill. You- you care!"

She blinks, surprised by the fervour in his eyes and voice. 

"What will it take for me to convince you?" he asks, licking his lips, her eyes following the movement before she glances back up at his eyes, biting her own lip.

He leans in, pressing the lightest of kisses to her lips, and a storm of butterflies bursts free inside her stomach.

 

* * *

 

For the first time in many moons Jon wakes up in a delightful mood. He wanders through the halls of the palace, realizing he's alone.

He breaks his fast with boiled eggs, crusty bread and some pink apples. He's never seen any servants around the palace. Food simply seems to appear in the small antechamber to his bedroom whenever he's hungry. There's never any meat, or fish for that matter.

When he's eaten his fill, he ventures outside into the garden, telling himself he merely wants to stretch his legs and enjoy some fresh air but of course he's looking for her.

When he finally finds her in a remote bower, he discovers that ridiculous ponce has come back to visit her. He's smirking at her and reaches out to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. Perhaps it's only wishful thinking, but Sansa seems to freeze for a moment.

Jon can't hear what she's saying, but he can see the way she purses her lips, the angry set of Theon's jaw and his narrowed eyes.

His face relaxes and he curls his hands around Sansa's elbows, pulling her closer to grab her waist, but she recoils. He reaches out again.

Part of Jon wants to charge from his hiding place to blacken both of that prick's eyes and punch him in the gut for good measure. He clenches and unclenches his itching fists.

He's curious to see her handle this however. He needs to know whether that kiss meant anything to her. If she gives in to this oaf again, he'll know enough. His heart sinks into his stomach at the thought alone. Perhaps he should run, but he will not. He's not a craven.

He grits his teeth, fingernails digging into his palms and forces his eyes back on the exchange in front of him, which by now has turned into an argument.

Sansa lifts her chin in defiance, something she does when she wants to seem braver than she believes she is, and it's clear from Theon's reaction that he doesn't like what she's just told him.

He disappears into thin air, only a slight shimmer still indicating where he was standing only moments ago. A sob ripples through Sansa's body, and before Jon can decide whether he should make his presence known and go to her, she storms off.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You might have noticed the chapter count has gone up again... I decided the smut deserved its very own chapter ;)


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Somehow I got huge writer's block on this one after writing my kink week fics :') I'd already finished over a third of this chapter when I posted the previous one, but I got completely stuck... Is there such a thing as too much smut?
> 
> Special shout-out to chocolateghost and selene for their support on the Theonsa issue :D
> 
> Anyways, this is, ahum, pretty much a smut fest and just a little angsty, slightly crazypants Sansa right at the end...

Nay but he will come. Why am I so fair,   
and marvellously minded, and with sight   
which flashes suddenly on hidden things,   
as the gods see who do not need to look?   
why wear I in my eyes that stronger power   
than basilisks, whose gaze can only kill,   
to draw men's souls to me to live or die   
as I would have them? why am I given pride   
which yet longs to be broken, and this scorn   
cruel and vengeful for the lesser men   
who meet the smiles I waste for lack of him   
and grow too glad? why am I who I am,   
but for the sake of him whom fate will send   
one day to be my master utterly,   
that he should take me, the desire of all,   
whom only he in the world could bow to him? 

_Circe - Augusta Webster_

 

 

Jon keeps pacing up and down the hallway. If he were to act on impulse, he'd already be on his way to Sansa's chambers. She was so upset though, what if she doesn't want to see him and sends him away? He takes a deep breath and clenches his fists. There's only one way to find out.

Arriving at her door, he knocks, but there's no answer. He tries again, and the door swings open. He walks through it, hearing it close behind him. 

She appears from around a corner, wearing a loose pale blue gown that flows around her frame. Her head is tilted and she blinks, her eyes slightly puffy. "Jon?" she asks. "What are you doing here?"

He licks his lips. "I saw you with Theon."

She nods as she steps closer to him. "I sent him away."

He inhales, taking in her rich, sweet scent. "Will he come back?"

"He always comes back," she shrugs. "But I don't expect to see him again anytime soon."

She's so close he can count the freckles on her nose and discern the flecks of grey and green in the blue of her eyes. "Why is that?"

"I refused him." Her hands are clasped together in front of her stomach.

"Why did you that?" he asks.

She bites her lip, a pretty blush appearing on her high cheekbones. "Don't you know?"

He swallows heavily. "I-I'd like to- May I kiss you again?"

"You may," she breathes, gliding her hands up into his hair and pulling him down until their lips meet.

His hands come to rest on her hips, fisting into the smooth fabric of the gown she's wearing. This kiss is different from the one they shared before. Her mouth is hungry this time and soon she's licking at the seam of his lips. They part and she flicks her tongue into his mouth, letting it slide over his, nudging it to move along with hers.

She sucks and licks and nips, making him breathless, and he groans as he clenches his fists more tightly into the fabric of her skirt. She whimpers and retreats, her lips pink and swollen.

She reaches for the pearl clasps on her shoulders and her gown falls away until it pools at her feet. He hears another moan and realizes it came from his own mouth.

He's seen naked women before, but never this close up, and none like her. "You're a vision," he blurts out, and she replies with a bright smile. 

He keeps staring at her and she giggles. "Are you just going to stand there?"

He can feel his ears and cheeks heating up. "I- err... I don't - um... I," he stammers.

"You don't know what to do?" she asks softly. "What do you want to do?"

"I- May I touch your hair?"

Another giggle. "My hair?"

He reaches for it, unravelling her fiery tresses from the braid she wears them in and lets his fingers glide through her silky mane. There's a look in her eyes he hasn't seen before.

She presses herself flush against him to kiss him again. He frames her face in his hands to take control and he wonders if she can feel how hard he is.

She starts pulling on his tunic, leading him back to a far corner of the incredibly spacious room, where a large bed is waiting for them, the same bed he woke up in a couple of moons ago.

She helps him out of his clothes and he takes care to safely put his locket on top of the pile. Her eyes rake over his body and she licks her lips.

There's a grin on her face as she takes him by the hands and starts walking back until her legs hit the edge of the bed and she lets herself drop back on it, dragging him along.

He manages to break his fall with his hands so he doesn't crush her but his nose bumps hers and she sucks his bottom lip between her teeth. They move up until she's lying flat on her back and he's covering her body with his own, his lips glued to hers all the while.

She sneaks a hand between them and wraps her hand around his length, making him gasp into her mouth. "You've never been with a woman before?" she asks.

He searches her eyes, but there's no judgement in them, only desire. He shakes his head.

She bites her lip. "I like it," she whispers. "I like the idea of being your first. Go on then."

He hesitates. He's not sure how to explain. "I'd like to please you, but I don't know how."

"Don't worry about that now. I'll show you later," she says, pulling him down for another kiss. "I have an idea. Lie on your back."

He gulps, his eyes widening as he follows her orders and she moves to straddle him. She takes his hands and puts them on her hips and he glides them up, relishing in the feel of her soft skin under his fingers, up until his thumbs are brushing the undersides of her tits.

He cups one slowly, flicking his thumb over her nipple and she moans. She shifts her hips, sliding her wet folds back and forth over his aching cock and it almost feels too good, and he's not even inside her yet.

She pushes herself up and lowers her hand to position him. She glances up at him from under her lashes, before unleashing the full force of those impossibly blue eyes on him, and sinks down on him.

He gasps, his hands tightening on her waist and his hips jerking of their own accord. "Easy," she purs, covering his hands with her own as she takes him in even deeper, releasing a sigh with a contented smile on her lips.

It's indescribable what it feels like to be inside her, there's nothing he can quite compare it to. It's warm and wet and soft, but she grips him so tightly he's afraid his eyes are about to roll back into his head.

She moves up and down once and starts undulating her hips slowly. She mewls softly. "Mmm, you feel good."

He can hardly keep his eyes open, overwhelmed by the way her cunt feels around him, her smell, the little sounds she's making, but there's so much to see: her fiery hair framing her slightly flushed face, her parted lips, her half-closed eyes, and her swaying curves.

She bites her lip, and starts bouncing up and down on his cock, her tits moving along more wildly. For a moment he regains the ability to act and he moves his hands up to squeeze them, but then his balls are tightening up, the coil at the base of his spine snaps and he roars as his seed pulses out of him.

She keeps rocking her hips, working him through his release and then she leans down to kiss him, moving off his cock to curl herself into his side.

His heart racing in his chest, he throws one arm over his eyes as he struggles to catch his breath. He lies there, not moving for a very long time, until a soft whimper catches his attention.

He turns his head to look and gulps. His cock quickly springs back to attention at the sight before him. She's splayed out on the bed, biting her lip as her darkened eyes trail over his body and her hand moves in tight circles between her thighs. 

He wraps his hand around his shaft,  slowly squeezing up to the tip, never taking his eyes off her. 

"Jon?" she moans eventually. "Please, I need your cock."

She needn't tell him that twice. He rolls onto his knees and covers her body with his own, pressing a quick peck to her lips as he braces himself on his forearms. He shifts back until the head of his cock is prodding her folds and he groans at the closeness of her delicious slick heat, before breaching her.

She's even wetter than before and he slides in easily, his face dropping to the crook of her neck. He nuzzles into her skin with his first thrust and suddenly he's overcome by the urge to bite. She cries out as he nips the flesh just below her ear and he pulls back in shock.

Her eyes are dark and gleaming however, her tongue darting out to wet her lips. She wraps her long legs around his waist and her hand brushes the base of his cock, where it's still working between her thighs. "Do it again," she commands. "And then fuck me, Jon. I'm about to come for you."

It's almost enough to finish him again and after another bite he starts pounding into her in earnest. He'd swear he can feel her cunt tightening on his cock and suddenly she clenches around him, moaning his name, pulling him over the edge with her. Her fluttering walls milk every last drop of seed from him and he slumps on top of her.

After a while it occurs to him he must be heavy, so he rolls to his side, dozing off. He's awoken by a falling sensation and jerks his head up, seeing Sansa crawl back onto the bed. "Where did you go?" he mumbles.

"Nowhere," she reassures him, brushing a damp curl from his brow. "I'm here now. Go to sleep, my love."

He smiles at the endearment, wrapping an arm around her waist, of half a mind to have her again, but he's quickly pulled under by sleep.

***

Sansa could keep looking at Jon as he's lying next to her, sleeping peacefully. She runs a finger over his temple, his cheekbone, his nose and brushes her knuckles over his bearded jaw.  _You're mine now._

She sighs, squeezing her eyes shut, smothering the voice that warns her not to get her hopes up.

She snuggles closer and feels his hard cock poking her hip. She suppresses a giggle and slides down under the sheets until her face is level with his manhood.  _Also mine,_ she thinks, before pressing her lips to the rim.

She gently pushes him onto his back and wraps her hand around his length, peppering the head with kisses, making him shift and grunt in his sleep.

She licks a stripe up the underside and engulfs him in her mouth, drawing a deep groan from his lips.

He lifts the sheets and stares at her with sleepy eyes and parted lips. "Sansa, what-" he starts, but then she swirls her tongue around the head of his cock, closing her eyes, and he gasps, slumping back against the pillows.

When she sucks gently, his hips buck up. "I'm sorry," he whimpers and her responding giggle makes him slam his hands against the mattress. She moans as she starts bobbing her head up and down and he lifts the sheets so he can look at her again.

"Sansa," he breathes, hands pushing her hair back. "So good... So good."

She opens her eyes, taking in his, pupils blown so wide they're almost entirely black. His hands tighten in her hair as she holds his gaze and he gulps, head dropping back. She can feel his body tense up and moments later, his seed spurts out, coating her tongue.

She swallows all of it, licking any remaing traces from his cock. She climbs back up his body, burrowing into his side again, waiting for him to recover from his release.

When he opens his eyes, she glances up at him through her lashes and smiles demurely. "Did you like that?" she asks.

"I loved it," he answers, voice still rough. He lifts a hand to trace the shape of her lips with two fingers, a slight crease appearing between his eyebrows.

"You told me you'd show me how to please you," he begins. "What you just did, with your mouth, can- could I do that for you as well?"

She blinks. "Are you asking me whether you may pleasure me with your mouth?"

"Well, may, of course, that, too," he stammers. "So it's possible?" His face lights up. 

She leans in to brush her nose against his. "Of course it's possible, but to please a woman, you need to take it slow, build it up so to speak."

He frowns. "How?"

"By touching and kissing me elsewhere first, like here," she indicates the sensitive spot behind her ear. He ducks his head and kisses her there, sucking on the soft flesh. He trails his lips down her neck and dips his tongue into the hollow at the base of her throat.

"And here," she says, palming her right breast as she rolls onto her back. He nips at her collarbone, covering her right hand with one of his own and inclining his head to suck her left nipple into his mouth.

 _He's good with his mouth._ The realization makes her rub her thighs together in anticipation of what's about to come and she can feel herself growing wetter.

She switches their hands and guides his movements. His tongue is hot and wet as it swirls around her nipple, his beard rough and prickly against her skin, and then he bites down lightly, sending a sharp pang straight down to her nub.

"And then you move down slowly," she whimpers. She doesn't truly  _need_ all of this preparation, but she's enjoying it thoroughly

He leaves a trail of sloppy kisses down her stomach and kisses the hair on her mound, moving to sit in between her legs. His mouth is clumsy but eager and his tongue just a tad too insistent, but with a little guidance he brings her to a shuddering peak quickly enough. 

And he doesn't relent.

"Gently now," she warns him.

He slows down, his tongue lightly circling her nub, until she's grinding her cunt against his face and he grows bolder again. He works her through a second climax as it ripples through her body. The grin on his face is the most beautiful thing she's ever seen and she pulls him back up to kiss him. 

She flinches as his cock nudges her entrance, still so sensitive, and the pleasure jolting through her when he stretches her open is almost too sharp. It only takes a couple of strokes before she's crying out and clenching around him. 

She pulls her legs up, toes caressing his calves, and when she's recovered, she starts moving with him, meeting him thrust for thrust. 

He doesn't last much longer than he did the first two times, but when he gathers her in his arms and kisses her cheek tenderly, running his fingers through her hair, she finds that she doesn't mind at all. He falls asleep again soon after, and she closes her eyes to drift off for a while as well.

When she wakes up, he's still snoring softly, and she rolls away from him and rises, padding across the room to go and brush the tangles from her hair. 

A flicker of light catches her eye, and she finds herself drawn to it. It's Jon's locket. She reaches for it and then stops herself. She shouldn't... But she's been so curious about it since the first time she saw it. 

In the blink of an eye, she makes a decision, picking it up and opening it. Her stomach lurches, bile rising in her throat. Perhaps Theon has it right. She's always been a fool.

Inside the locket is a likeness of a girl with dark hair and large grey eyes. No one would call her a great beauty, but her face is still lovely in a peculiarly fierce way. She looks oddly familiar.

The sight of her rips Sansa's chest open, and a raw sob escapes from her throat. She tries to chase the pain away, letting fury cleanse it from her body, and whirls around, climbing back onto the bed.

She clambers on top of him, straddling his chest, not caring to be gentle at all. He groans and his eyelids flutter, straining themselves to open. He suppresses a yawn and blinks, mouth falling open as he stares at her.

"Sansa, what?" he begins.

She lets the chain slip from her hand until the locket is dangling in front of his face and demands: "Who is she?"

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One more chapter to go + a short epilogue!


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A lot going on in this chapter, this is where all the drama happens!

Oh love, oh love, oh love, art not yet come   
out of the waiting shadows into life?   
art not yet come after so many years   
that I have longed for thee? Come! I am here. 

_Circe - Augusta Webster_

 

It's always the same. There's always some other woman. They never care about Sansa. Usually they claim to care about that other woman. But how could that be true, when they gladly and temporarily forget her out of lust for Sansa's body?

She's punished those who came before, for betraying both her and that faceless stranger who at least had been spared the pain of learning about his faithlessness. Can she do the same to him, who's staring up at her, that sweet face a mask of confusion?

He stretches his hand, trying to grasp the locket, but she snatches it away, clutching it in her fist, just out of his reach. The uncertainty in his eyes starts to shift to a hard, angry gleam. "Sansa, what in seven hells?" he curses.

"Who is she?" she repeats, voice cracking.

"That's my sister, Arya!" he snaps.

Dazed, she moves off him, watching him scramble off the bed and collect his clothes.

It's only when she hears the door closing that she allows herself to crumble as the sobs force themselves up her throat. She's ruined everything.

***

The next day she finds him on the marble bench near the pear tree. He doesn't look at her, but she didn't expect him to. Gently she places the locket beside him on the bench and whispers "I'm sorry."

She lingers, but he doesn't say anything. She turns around, but he remains quiet. She saunters away from him, as slowly as she can, but it's only when she's about to turn the corner at a rose briar that she hears him call out: "Wait."

She pauses, not yet sure her ears aren't playing a trick on her. 

"Sansa, wait."

This time she risks a cautious glance. He's risen to his feet and is looking at her expectantly. He takes a hesitant step and it gives her enough courage to walk back to him. 

"Why?' he asks, holding her gaze, his face crumpling. "Why did you think I.." He lets his question trail off, exhaling heavily through his nose. 

She averts her eyes and shrugs. "It's what men do."

He lifts her chin with one finger, making her look at him. "I would never;"

She offers him a watery smile. 

He sighs, sitting down again and pats the empty space next to him. 

She accepts and repeats. "I'm sorry... Can you forgive me?"

There is a silence which lasts too long to her liking, but then he says: "Alright, I forgive you," and she can hear the smile in his voice. She glances up to see him looking at her.

"You just scared me, is all," he adds when their eyes meet. He takes her hand and squeezes it. Perhaps one day she'll tell him more, but for now it's enough that there seems to be some form of understanding between the two of them.

"Will you tell me about your sister?" she asks.

His face lights up. "She was all I had in the world. Feistier than any girl you've ever met. Skinny with knobbly knees and her hair always looked like a bird had nested in it."

"Our mother was a Westerosi. Some man talked her into giving him her maidenhead, which is how she got me."

She can hear the bitterness in his voice and closes her eyes at how familiar the story sounds.

"Her father tried to make her drink moon tea, but she wouldn't do it. She fled, boarded a ship to Braavos to make a new life there," he continued. "Arya was born when I was five, our mother died when I was fourteen."

"I'm sorry," she whispers, stroking his knuckles with her thumb. 

"That's how I ended up on a ship. I had to provide for myself, and for Arya."

"And she's still back in Braavos? Alone?"

He purses his lips and nods. "She's tough... But she's just a young girl, all alone in the world..."

***

He spends the night in Sansa's chambers again. They're both still recovering from their excited coupling, his head pillowed on her breasts, her fingers playing with his hair, when he thinks to ask: "Sansa? We've- we've made love almost half a dozen times now..."

She only hums in response.

"There's... I know our situation is - unusual. But I'm worried about... I spilled inside you almost every time. What if...?"

"I'm not a regular woman, Jon," she answers. "It doesn't work like that for me. It's more... complicated."

"So there's no chance I've fathered a bastard on you?" he ask to be sure.

"No," she tells him, pushing him onto his back and straddling him. "We can do this as often as we want, any which way we like, and you don't have anything to worry about," she says as she sinks down on him.

He enjoys watching her ride him for a while, before sitting up to hold her and kiss her. It's slower and more tender than their first time tonight.

She finds her release and he follows soon after. He's still inside her when he falls asleep, cradling her in his arms.

It's only a couple of hours later when she wakes him up to have him again. She kisses him more fiercely than she has so far, her touches holding an eagerness he hasn't felt before. She locks her legs tightly around him, desperately clawing at his back, and when she cries out his name, it sounds like a sob.

It's only when he's dozed off again and wakes with a start, that the difference sets off an uneasy feeling in his stomach. It keeps him up for a while, but eventually sleep pulls him under again.

***

He's alone when he wakes up. He returns to his own chambers to change clothes and break his fast and then heads for the gardens. 

Sansa's waiting for him on the bench by the pear tree, exactly where he expects to find her. He's come to think of it as their spot. 

To his surprise, her eyes are red-rimmed again. He closes the distance between them and leans in to kiss her cheek. "What's wrong?" he asks.

She smiles and says: "I have something for you." She picks up a bundle that was lying in her lap and starts to unwrap it before handing it to him.

It's something he can only describe as a coral pink seashell, resembling that of a scallop, except it's about the size of a small fist. It doesn't feel like a shell, it's much more pliant, warm and softly glowing. He could swear it's humming in his hands.

He glances up at her. "What's this?"

A tear has spilled from her eyes. "I've figured out a way for you to leave," she whispers.

"Leave?" he exclaims. "Sansa, I don't want to leave you!"

"Don't you want to find your sister?"

He can't deny it. If there's a way for him to find out where she is, to know whether she's safe and happy, it's a chance he can't turn down.

"I'll come back to you," he promises.

Her only answer is a sad smile. She reaches out to wrap the magical object back into its bundle, putting it down on the bench before rising.

She places a hand over his heart. "Hold it here when you go through the gate. And once you reach land, keep it close, keep it safe."

"I will," he breathes.

"I know," she says with another smile, but her shoulder jerks, and through the heat of her tears, her skin seems paler than usual. "Is everything all right?"

She nods. "Kiss me goodbye, Jon."

He does, holding her as tight as possible, and even though neither of them wants this kiss to end, they still part too soon.

"I'll come back to you," he promises again.

"Perhaps you will," she concedes.

 

* * *

 

 

He's searched every street, corner and alley in Braavos, but there's not a trace of Arya to be found. He's at his wit's end when he runs into Donal Noye, a blacksmith who took them in when they'd ended up on the streets after Mother succumbed to her illness.

"Please," he begs the man. "Arya's gone. I can't find her anywhere. You have to help me!"

The one-armed man clasps him by the shoulder. "I can't help you, lad. I know as much as you do. What you need is a place where they know everything."

There are only two such places in the entire city. He can't exactly march into the House of Black and White and demand to know his sister's whereabouts, so that means it's the Happy Port for him. It's not a visit he's looking forward to, but he's come too far to give up now.

It's busy when he enters the brothel, but it doesn't take long for the person he was hoping to avoid to notice him. Lanna offers him her most alluring smile and struts over to his table, hips swaying. He takes a long gulp from his tankard of ale and looks the other way.

She slides onto the bench next to him, curling her body against his. She smells of ale and cheap perfume. "Well, if it isn't Jon Snow," she purs.

"I'm looking for my sister," he tells her through clenched teeth.

"Oh? Why did you expect to find her here? Has she finally decided to follow in your mother's footsteps?"

His hand closes around her throat and she licks her lips, bosom heaving. "I always had you pegged for a man who likes it rough," she laughs.

He releases her and takes another swig of ale. "Do you know where she is?"

"Perhaps I do," she shrugs.

"Tell me," he demands.

"I will," she answers, slipping her hand between his legs. "For a price."

He grabs her wrist. "No. Out of the two of us, I'm the one who's not a whore!"

"Oh," she pouts. "That's harsh. But I s'pose it's the truth."

She continues her assault, sliding her hand under his coat, brushing Sansa's seashell, which is concealed in his inner pocket. She takes a peek, seeing the glow. 'What's this?" she gasps.

"You can't have it!" he warns her, pushing her away. "You know I have gold and that's all you can get. The longer it takes, the less I'll give you, so tell me what you know."

She rolls her eyes. "You were never any fun!"

He ignores the insult.

"Fine," she sighs dramatically. "After you didn't return from your last trip, she ran off with a sailor, big lad with a bull's helmet. He took her back home to the Sunset Kindoms."

 

* * *

 

He's been swimming for hours. It's taking him longer to find Sansa's palace than he expected.

_He found Arya in a small town not far from King's Landing, happily married to her sailor, who turned out to be a blacksmith named Gendry._

_She leapt into his arms, hugging him tightly. "I thought you'd died," she told him when he put her down, biting her lip._

_"I almost did," he confessed. "But there was a woman..."_

_She rolled her eyes before he could finish explaining._

_"You can't judge, little sister," he teased her. "You're the one who eloped."_

_She guffawed and embraced him again._

_"I can't stay," he told her. "I promised I'd return to her."_

_"Alright, alright. But you have to come visit us again."_

Finally he can see the dome. He looks for the portal, and Patchface lets him in. "The shadows come to dance, my lord, dance my lord, dance my lord," he sings to him. "The shadows come to stay, my lord, stay my lord, stay my lord."

As he runs through the garden, he can see leaves twirling from the branches, fruit rotting in the trees and it seems a lot darker than usual.

He reaches Sansa's chambers, knocks and enters. When he approaches the bed, Theon's kneeling beside it, holding Sansa's hand.

Fury bubbles up in his chest. "What are you doing here?" he shouts, but then he catches sight of Sansa and gasps.

She must have lost at least fifteen pounds in weight and her skin is clammy and sallow. There are dark purple bruises under her eyes and from the looks of it she's barely breathing.

"What have you done to her?" he demands to know.

"I did everything I could," Theon bites back, pushing himself to his feet. "The question is, bastard, what have  _you_ done to her?"

His eyes widen and he clenches his fists. "What?"

"Where is it?" the other man asks.

"Where is what?"

"Her heart!" he clarifies.

Jon stares at him in bewilderment.

He exhales heavily through his nose. "Sansa gave you her heart," he explains as if he's talking to a particularly dumb child. "Where did you put it?"

And then it hits him. The soft, humming, glowing shell was not a shell at all, but a mermaid's heart, Sansa's heart.

Theon arches an eyebrow, hands on his hips. "She didn't tell you, did she? Of course she didn't... Well, do you have it?"

He nods.

"Then put it back where it belongs!"

He hurries to do so. Sansa's heart sinks back into her chest, and her back arches off the mattress as a soft shimmer ripples through her body.

He waits and waits, but he can't see any difference and she doesn't wake up.

"It's not working! Help her!" he implores Theon, arms trembling and tears streaming down his face.

"I can't," he answers simply.

"What do you mean, you can't?" he roars.

He sighs. "To my great surprise and disappointment, you're the only one who can."

"I don't understand." 

"Are you a complete lackwit?" Theon asks, making him bristle. He brushes his thumb over the nail of his index finger, a look of disinterest on his face. "Don't you know any songs? You need to use the most powerful magic of all!"

Rage and desperate pain are making it hard to think and all Jon can do is stare at him.

He rolls his eyes and exclaims: "Just kiss the girl, you fool!"

Can it be that simple? He cups the side of her face and leans in, pressing a soft kiss to her lips.

Nothing spectacular happens, but the air seems to become less heavy every moment as the room grows warmer and brighter, and then she opens her eyes.

"Sansa?"

Her eyelids flutter and a weak smile appears on her lips. "Jon?" she asks hoarsely. "Is that really you? You came back."

"I promised, didn't I?" he croaks out, brushing her hair from her brow.

She smiles again, lifting her hand to touch his face. He leans into her touch, rubbing his cheek against her palm.

"Jon, I love you," she whispers.

"I love you, too," he sobs, and inclines his head to kiss her again.

 


	6. Chapter 6

_The sea does not reward those who are too anxious, too greedy, or too impatient._  
_One should lie empty, open, choiceless as a beach - waiting for a gift from the sea._

Anne Morrow Lindberg

 

 

Sansa takes a deep breath, savouring the salty air as the wind whips her hair around her face. She likes coming here, looking out to the sea. She misses it, she's not scared to admit it. She swears at times she can still hear the call. But it has become nothing more than a fond memory.

"Hello, my lovely," a voice pipes up behind her.

She lets her mouth curl into a half-smile before turning around. "Theon," she greets him.

"It's been such a long time since I last saw you." He lets his eyes trail down her body, lingering on the hand that's resting on her belly. "Your condition becomes you. I bet your teats look lovely now. I'd suck the sweet milk out of them if you let me."

A laugh bursts from her lips as she starts her walk back to the cottage. "Tempting," she japes. "But no, thank you. Why are you here?"

He doesn't answer her yet. "I'm hurt, Sansa. Have you forgotten it's thanks to my boundless benevolence you're even able to be back on land?"

She shakes her head as she keeps walking, Theon trailing behind. Even now she still knows him too well to fall for this charade. It is about him, she won't deny that, but this is also just his way of making sure she is happy.

"Those days are over, Theon," she reminds him. "I have no regrets, but I don't want to go back to them, not ever."

"Pity," he huffs, and she has to purse her lips to keep a giggle from bursting from her lips. He's not fooling her, but she won't call him out on it. "How is Patches?" she asks instead.

"He's as fine as he'll ever be. It was a good call to leave him with Myrcella," he informs her.

She almost asks how he is doing, but the question is futile. He is as he always has been: free, untameable and capricious, but with a deeper heart than one might suspect. "It was good to see you again."

"And you," he answers with a smirk, before a gust of wind sweeps him up and carries him away from her.

***

It's summer and the sun is warming the seashells covering the outer wall of the cottage. Sansa sits in her chair outside, embroidering flowers and shells, and wolves and snowflakes on a tiny blanket. The memories of her first life are still blurry, only returning in feverish dreams and fragmented visions, but she remembers more now.

She remembers Mother and Father, her brothers, and even her sister, a startling recollection hitting her for the first time when she met Arya. She doesn't know the gods' intent with such an odd trick, but she's embraced it as a good omen.

Sometimes she wonders if Jon had been around as well back then, when she and Arya and shared a lifetime before. What if she'd met him then, known him and loved him? She might have never jumped off that cliff... But it doesn't do to dwell on what-ifs and what could have been. They're together now, and that's what counts.

She gets up to milk the goats and check the coop for eggs, and then returns to her seat to gently rub her belly and softly sing to the child growing inside. She believes it will be a girl, and she's prayed to the gods that she won't have to go through any of the hardships she and Jon's mother, and so many others, have had to face. She also knows Jon would die before he lets anything happen to any child of his, but she still worries. Can anyone truly protect anyone?

It's when the sun starts to drop into the west, and Sansa's had to wrap a shawl around her shoulders, golden beams painting the sea and sky with streaks of crimson, coral and violet, that a lone figure comes striding up the gentle slope of the hill.

Jon's face lights up when their eyes connect and she leaps up, somewhat hindered by her expanding belly and hurls herself into his arms.

"Careful," he mutters, burying his nose in her hair before he pulls back to stroke her cheekbones and kiss her. It's a quick and passionate kiss, but he slows them down, gliding his hands to her waist, twisting her slightly so he can hold her closer. His hand caresses her belly and he whispers against her lips: "How are you? And the babe?"

"Better now," she breathes back. "Are you hungry?"

He raises an eyebrow, letting his eyes trail down her form.

Despite the light flutter between her thighs, she rolls her eyes and chides him: "That's not what I meant."

He pouts and releases a disappointed groan.

"Later," she promises him. "You need to eat first."

"Later," he agrees, wrapping an arm around her shoulders as they head inside.

They share a simple meal: barley and mushroom stew with some crusty bread and goat's cheese. Sansa used to be terrible at this. She'd never had to cook before in her long life, and Jon needed to teach her, but she's always been a fast learner, and she's become quite skilled at it now.

After, she takes off her shawl, her roughspun dress and her shift, moving to stand in between his legs. After all these years, his eyes still hold that same reverent look. His hands slide up her legs, cupping her arse cheeks and he kisses her belly before closing his mouth over a nipple, making her whimper. He wraps one arm around her hips, slipping the fingers of his other hand between her folds.

He holds her tightly as he fucks her with his fingers, the heel of his hand on her nub and his mouth caressing her tits and belly. She cries out his name when she peaks, and he pulls his hand away to lick her juices off his fingers.

He pulls his cock free from his breeches, and shifts in his chair, leaning back so she can straddle him, without her belly getting in the way. They both gasp in relief when she sinks down on him, mouths struggling to find each other so they can share a kiss. She rides him as fast as she can manage, quickly bringing him to his release, clamping down on him when he roars from the force of it.

She slumps against him, the both of them panting messes as they try to recover. He kisses her neck and rasps: "I love you."

"I love you, too," she answers, using his shoulders to push herself off him. She takes his hand and guides him back to the bed. 

They lie on their sides facing each other and just kiss for a while, until he helps her roll over onto her other side and slides inside her from behind, kissing her neck and shoulders.

She turns her head around so his mouth can find hers, her fingers fisting into his curls to hold him there. He slips a hand down her front to press two fingers to her pearl as he keeps up a tender, languid pace. She starts moving with him and they lose themselves in the slow, canting rhythm.

They finish together, and he releases her mouth, nuzzling his face into the nape of her neck. She takes his hand to lace their fingers together on her belly. 

"We're going to be doing that a lot now that I'll be home more often," he murmurs into her hair.

She giggles. "Did you think I'd mind?"

"No, I know you too well."

"Won't you miss the sea?" she asks, curious.

"We live by the sea," he reminds her.

"It's not the same. It won't be as exciting as being a pirate either."

"I'll get enough excitement with you waiting for me every night," he growls into her ear. "Besides, it's about time I settled down."

"You sound old," she japes.

"You are much older," he retorts.

"That's not something you should ever say to a lady!" she cries out indignantly.

"I apologize, m'lady," he mutters, peppering her shoulder with kisses. "Will you punish me for my insolence?"

"Perhaps I will," she muses, twisting in his arms so she can kiss him.

"I love you," he tells her again, his dark solemn eyes holding her gaze. "You make me happy. You're everything I need."

It's a simple declaration, but a true one, and it makes her tear up.

"Don't cry," he whispers.

"It's because of the babe," she blubbers. "I love you, too."

He presses his lips to her forehead and pulls her close. "You should sleep for a while," he sighs, but as usual, he's the first to fall asleep only moments later. 

She snuggles into his body, nuzzling her face into the crook under his chin, grateful for how blessed she truly is. After all, how many in this world can say they've been offered a second chance and still got everything they ever wanted?

She accidentally saved his life, and he saved her in return, when she believed she'd been beyond saving for a very long time. It is a curious thing, she thinks as she closes her eyes. The sea gives and it takes, and once in a blue moon, it returns what was supposed to have been lost a long time ago.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So that was it, the final part of this story, one I've really loved writing and am quite proud of :)
> 
> Thank you all for reading and leaving such wonderful comments! I hoped you enjoyed this journey as much as I did.


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